


Balm of Hurt Minds

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Reconciliation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Will and Hannibal live in Verona, eventually, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After relocating to Verona, Will and Hannibal explore the unchartered territory of a capital R relationship. But their little pocket of peace is permeated when the latest in a series of gruesome murders lands on their doorstep. </p><p>Set post-Mizumono. Will runs away with Hannibal when he asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. -_ Macbeth, William Shakespeare.

  


The view of Verona was pretty enough. A shimmering curve of water flanked by uneven rows of sand coloured buildings. There was a smattering of outmoded Italian architecture; the occasional jut of a steeple, the odd concavity of a square, but nothing particularly overwhelming.

Simple. Unobtrusive. Serene. And entirely fucking irritating.

Will threw a stick aimlessly and watched as Winston and Tux sprinted after it, kicking up clouds of dust. Frustration settled heavily in his gut as his gaze once again strayed to the city below.

Will couldn’t say he regretted the move; it had been nice for someone else to take the reins, to steer him in the direction of a new life he never knew he wanted. There had been too many uncertainties and conflictions nagging at him to contemplate anything concrete. Hannibal’s offer had seemed straightforward.

_We could disappear now. Tonight._

Jesus, that had been surprising enough to be unnerving. Simplicity and the weight of commitment melding.  Eventualities twisting up inside him. The desire to run versus the desire to stay and let the chips fall where they may. And the chips would likely fall in places drenched with the blood of those he cared about. And possibly his own.

Will stood, whistled for the dogs. They came easily enough and followed quietly as Will began his way back down the dirt road.

The air was close and smelt strongly of olives. Will kicked at a stone and watched as it skittered to a halt beside a dead lizard. Will felt the bizarre urge to laugh. The lizard was spread eagled on its back, skin dry and shrivelled by the sun. Oddly, the sight was relatable. Winston paused to sniff at it.

‘Winston. Leave it.’

Winston gave one last defiant snuffle before bounding ahead and out of sight as he scampered up the driveway to the house.

Out of habit, Will left his shoes by the front door. The steady rush and splash of the nearby fountain only fuelled his irritation. He glared at it. That unnecessary fucking fountain.

In fact, everything about the fucking house was unnecessary. Large and airy, to say it was pretentious as hell would be an understatement. It had its own courtyard, for Christ’s sake; something that had earnt Hannibal a particularly nasty look from Will. Hannibal had offered a minute shrug and continued to peruse the space, murmuring something about obstinacy. Will had taken care to give him a shove as he passed.

The front door led directly into the kitchen, where Will carelessly deposited his keys on a nearby surface. He sat at the counter and covered his face with his hands. He let out a groan, fingernails digging into his forehead.

He heard the rush of water somewhere above him. His stomach gave its usual small lurch, responding to an entirely different kind of frustration as fragmented images taunted him. Water streaming downwards in rivulets, pooling in the hollow of a collarbone, coils of steam unfurling from smooth, wet skin. He let out a long, slow sigh. For fuck’s sake.

It seemed futile to even dwell on where the hell these mental incursions had come from. His mind was a train wreck; his traitorous imagination testified that much. 

What had he expected? For the relationship to be simple? For both of them to resolutely prevent the encroachment of the past?

_I felt so betrayed by you._

A feeling that went both ways, Will ventured. Hannibal had assumed a persona of casual indifference proceeding their decision to run. Will was unsurprised. Perhaps that was why he was so adamant to push back; letting the savage desire for confrontation simmer whilst Hannibal put up more and more barriers.

Will had gotten under Hannibal’s skin and burrowed far enough to be a constant, uncomfortable reminder that emotion betrayed vulnerability. An itch he couldn’t scratch.

Will rubbed his eyes until blackness bloomed over red.

‘Shit,’ he said softly.

It needed to be confronted. This façade of bitter indifference was becoming more and more problematic; a chord pulled too tight. Soon it would snap and there’d be blood.

Resolve and hesitancy waged war in his mind; rationality and desire constantly at odds but ultimately overshadowed by fear. Hypersensitive to different eventualities.

The water was shut off. Will closed his eyes and made his resolution for the thousandth time. This time would be different. This time he would not cower away from what may or may not happen. This time the truth would be confronted, whatever the consequences.


	2. Chapter 2

Will neglected to eat with Hannibal. It didn’t provoke interrogation and he was able to lie in the cool gloom of his bedroom uninterrupted, staring at the ceiling fan. His mind was blank.

It was quiet; the sounds from the kitchen had stopped a while ago. He guessed that Hannibal would be in the study, as was his usual post-dinner ritual. Slowly, Will heaved himself up from the bed and cracked his neck.

He made his may downstairs slowly, practically dragging his feet. The door to the study was ajar and he could hear the whir of the air conditioning. As he approached, a faint rustle told him that Hannibal was reading. He nudged the door open and stepped inside.

Hannibal looked up, eyebrows knitting together slightly.

‘This is new,’ he said quietly.

 Will drew a breath.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he managed.

‘Not at all,’ Hannibal gestured to the armchair opposite and set his book down.

Will crossed the room and sat; upright and rigid as was his custom.

Hannibal appraised him. His expression was impassive, head tilted slightly to one side. Unconcerned. Will swallowed. Now or never.

‘We’ve been here for eight months.’

‘I am aware of that,’ Hannibal commented placidly.

‘Eight months. We’ve barely spoken. For eight months,’ Will pinched the bridge of his nose and ground out ‘I know you’ve noticed.’

Hannibal was very still, eyes dark.

‘Nothing to say?’ Will said, incredulous. ‘Seriously? You’re just going to sit there? Jesus you’re cold.’

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. ‘And you’re angry. Tell me why.’

Will glared at him. He bit his tongue to halt the response he longed to deliver.

_Manipulative cunt._

Hannibal smiled. ‘Is it terribly hard to restrain yourself?’

‘What is this?’ Will spat. ‘What game are you playing? This is a simple matter---‘

‘Nothing about this is simple,’ Hannibal interrupted, ‘However, I am glad you are finally broaching the subject. After all, you’ve kept it bottled for so long.’

The last part had an edge to it. Will bristled.

‘You want to know why I’m angry, do you? You who apparently knows me better than anyone else,’ Will gave a small humourless laugh. ‘You really don't know? Or can you not see beyond your own adamant refusal to acknowledge what you feel?’

‘Very astute Will.’

‘Stop,’ Will was on his feet, barely mindful of his decision to do so. He was dimly conscious of just how much he was trembling. Rage was coming to his aid, fight overwhelming the urge to flee. ‘Just. Fucking stop. Prove to me that you're human. Feel something.’

Hannibal was no longer smiling. His eyes were fixed on Will, unblinking. A snake considering a small mammal. He stood slowly.

‘‘What do you imagine I'm capable of feeling, Will? I thought you denounced me a monster,’ his teeth were pulled back into a leer, anger palpable now. ‘A psychopath, devoid of emotion or empathy. A sadist and a narcissist. That is what I assume you told Jack Crawford.’

Will laughed derisively. ‘Am I supposed to be surprised that you know? That you knew when you asked me to run away with you? You underestimate me.’

Hannibal stepped forward. ‘And you accuse me of being cold.’

Will’s hands clenched into fists. Hannibal took another step forward.

‘Your impetus really was transparent. You hid behind the skirts of the FBI to avoid confronting what lurked inside you. What still lurks inside you.’

Will stared at him, stomach churning. Hannibal’s eyes glittered with malice.

‘What a wicked game you play, Will Graham. A double agent whose motivations are moulded by cowardice. That you would accuse me of refusing to accept my own feelings is really rather ironic isn't it?’

Will lips had pulled back from his teeth. Fury pulsated through him.

‘Is that why you're here Will? Because you've finally found a monster worse than yourself? Does it placate your obligation to feel guilt, knowing that the blame can be shifted so effortless---’

Will wasn’t aware of his decision to lunge forward. Goaded beyond endurance, he was propelled forward, slamming into Hannibal’s body and pinning him to the wall, the bar of his forearm across Hannibal’s throat. His breath was forced from him in ragged gasps, rage all but choking him. Hannibal’s eyes were wide, thrown entirely off guard and hating Will for it.

Will pressed closer, applying more pressure to Hannibal’s throat.

‘Is that what this is? Petty retribution?’ he laughed softly, grimly. ‘I thought you were beyond that.’

Hannibal’s eyes blazed. ‘Consider it an act of reciprocity.’

They glared at each other, both breathing heavily. Breathing each other’s air. Pushed together by spite, by ferocious confessions of contempt, even hatred…

They both felt the shift; anger converting to something else. They were chest to chest, Will’s body flat against Hannibal’s, their hips pressed together. Hannibal’s gaze dropped to Will’s mouth, lips parting. Their breathing changed. Will’s grip on Hannibal was changing. Hannibal’s hands were coming up to clutch Will’s hips. He tilted his head.

Will stopped it before it happened and pushed back from the wall. Still breathing heavily, he continued to hold Hannibal’s gaze. Hannibal was similarly wrecked; hands pressed flat against the wall to prevent him from reaching out and pulling Will back against him. Will swallowed.

‘That's how it is, is it?’ Will all but croaked.

‘Violence has been known to precede intimacy,’ Hannibal replied softly.

Will’s blood thundered in his ears. ‘This is all a game to you? Do you mean to manipulate me? Again?’

Hannibal shook his head minutely, diverting his gaze to the floor.

‘I cannot manipulate you. You cultivated my attempts and used them like a weapon. You have been steadily gaining clarity and are now moored by your own awareness. What need would be served by trying to manipulate you now?’

‘I don’t know. You don't tend to do things without motivation.’

‘Then I must want something,’ Hannibal raised his head once more.

Will felt heat crawl up his neck. His heart stuttered.

‘I'm not going to ask you to fuck me.’ It didn’t quite hit the acid tone or resolve he was aiming for.

Hannibal blinked. ‘You are looking in the wrong corner.’

‘Then what? What do you want?’

‘You are not the only one who struggles you know. My feelings for you are almost entirely inconvenient.’

‘Yeah well, love tends to be inconvenient doesn't it?’

The words came out in a rush before he could consign them to forethought. Hannibal stiffened. Will’s nails dug into his palms. Confession seemed the only way forward.

‘I should know,’ he said softly.

Their eyes met; the truth leaving them stripped bare, exposed to one another. Hannibal swallowed visibly, hands twisting together as though unsure what to do with them. It was an oddly childish gesture; one that pulled at something in Will.

‘My feelings for you broach many things, Will,’ he said softly. ‘Love amongst them. I never thought…’

Will’s eyes widened. ‘You didn’t think I felt the same?’

‘I had…doubts,’ Hannibal let out a slow breath.

‘I always thought you knew,’ Will shifted uncomfortably. ‘I sometimes feel like you can see directly into my head.’

‘I understand you. That doesn't necessarily mean I see everything.’

Will considered that. ‘Our mind sets are interlocked yet parts still remain closed.’

‘Succinctly put,’ Hannibal offered a minute smile. ‘Our relationship is complicated.’

‘That’s the understatement of the fucking century.’

‘No. I mean it’s almost impossible to reciprocate the rudiments in their entirety. There are too many.’

‘Explain.’

‘I mean love is one of many elements. Our connection also extends to fear, hatred, revulsion, jealousy, possessiveness,’ Hannibal pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. ‘To lump it all under one term would be reductive.’

Will watched him closely.

‘That is one hell of a pill to swallow,’ he said carefully.

‘You asked,’ Hannibal reminded him.

‘I never said I had to like the answer,’ Will sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Hannibal laughed quietly, finally extricating himself from the wall. He stood a few paces from Will, considering him with a contemplative expression.

‘My feelings for you are somewhat new. They catch me off guard at times’ he admitted finally.

Will gave him a small smile. ‘Must be a strange feeling.’

‘It is. For you too.’

‘God, yes. Seems like something I should be afraid of.’

‘Perhaps you should be.’

‘Unfamiliar territory.’

‘Indeed,’ Hannibal smiled. ‘Too many fundamentals.’

Will passed a hand over his eyes. ‘Way too many.’

He felt drained; felt himself yielding to the inevitable, submitting to all the prospects a relationship with Hannibal could possibly hold. Christ knows what it would entail but he was content to let Hannibal take the reins once more, to push him in the direction of something he never knew he wanted. It seemed he was developing a habit.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was a few days later when Will encountered the article. He supposed he should have known that his recently acquired pocket of calm wouldn’t last. His life was all fun and games, after all.

 

_Cinque omicidi. Cinque città. Nessun prova._

_Five murders. Five cities. No leads._

 

Will stared at the headline emblazoned over a cluster of crime scene photos. Apparently the Italian press had no reservations when it came to the macabre. Either that or the photos had been obtained illegally. A European variety of TattleCrime.com. Will’s lip curled with distaste.

_Incompetence seems to have stalled progress when it comes to investigators as a series of gruesome murders have wracked Turin, Genoa, Milan, Piza and Naples in the last month. With identical wound patterns and mutilations, the chilling anatomical assembly has become the hallmark of a new killer; one whose demographic is so wide that it extends across the provinces. Elena Belmonte, Alex Damiani, Amedia Crocetti, Berta Falco and Fierro Laterza were each found gutted in varying public locations; their eyes, ears and tongues removed with what police suspect to be a paring knife._

 

Will’s gaze once again strayed to the photos. Although they didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, it was difficult to discern anything concrete. Fury or passion was usually a prerequisite for this type of brutality but without reading the scene, Will couldn’t determine the motive.

He massaged his temples, unsure as to why he was even contemplating this. Force of habit probably.

‘I thought that may interest you.’

Eyes closed, still hunched over the article, Will conceded this with a small nod. ‘You’d be right.’

A cool hand came to rest at the nape of his neck. Will leant back into the touch reflectively.

It should have felt strange, even unwelcome. Yet the clammy feeling of discontent had lifted considerably. Will hadn’t known what to expect. A refractory period after emotionally flaying one another? The gripe of discomfort at being exposed?

It had been both a shock and a relief to discover that everything was relatively easy to acclimatise to. Even in light of the fact that Will’s experience of relationships extended to a handful of attempted dates and a considerable number of drunk fucks.

Or perhaps Hannibal’s chameleon-like ability to circumstantially adapt was contagious.

Hannibal’s squeezed the back of Will’s neck lightly. ‘What do you see?’

‘Not a lot,’ Will admitted. ‘Although he -or she I guess- reminds me a little of you.’

‘Oh?’

‘The presentation. Meticulous,’ Wil smiled. ‘A little pretentious.’

Hannibal laughed softly. ‘I thought you might reach that conclusion. Yet I’m curious what little you’ve managed to gauge. Tell me.’

‘The attempted elevation in death despite their apparent disgrace,’ Will said in a flat voice. ‘The poetic irony. Quiet sense of violence.’

‘Despite the brutality?’

Will sighed and pushed the paper to one side. ‘You tortured your victims before you killed them, right? Removed organs whilst they were conscious. Forced them to reflect on their own penchant for discourtesy before putting them out of their misery. A façade of mercy at the end. Entirely sadistic and incontrovertibly brutal. Yet that never showed in the crime scenes. You created art from pain. Poetry from screams,’ Will looked up at him. ‘Ergo, a quiet sense of violence.’

Hannibal’s fingernails dug into Will’s skin. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. ‘You see a lot.’

‘Yes. You knew that. You wanted a demonstration of my understanding.’

‘Yes.’

Will reached up and tentatively gripped Hannibal’s wrist. ‘Entertainment value?’

‘You paint an enticing picture. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being the muse on occasion.’

Will smiled slowly. ‘Narcissist.’

‘So I’ve been told,’ Hannibal paused, fingers threading through Will’s hair almost absently. ‘I enjoy holding your attention in many respects.’

‘Telling me that for a reason?’

‘Oh, I imagine so. Although I couldn’t tell you a definitive one.’

‘Too many?’

Hannibal’s smile grew teeth. ‘You have no idea.’


End file.
